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RIP

Velvet, the rich woman’s velour. For me, often associated with the infamous Laguna Beach-esque velour tracksuits. Beware of bedazzled booties and bad taste, but with time comes evolution. With a marketplace now flooded with glorious velvet creations, we can lock, deadlock and chain across the mistakes of our ancestors and be done with velour. RIP.

Moving on, I present, my latest velvet crush! Easily the baddest velvet I ever did see, aside from a freshly-baked red. Ya’ll know I’m a sucker for anything long sleeved, tight n bright. Tick, tick and tick. Its elasticity seems to know no bounds, a quality I can’t express enough love for as well as its gracious concern for my bank balance. I mean, how considerate?! If the tacky jumpsuits didn’t spell the end for velour, this savage velvet number certainly does.